His Touch

by Melinda Minx

  As I head to the elevator, a few people stand up to congratulate me. I smile and shake their hands, and finally I make it past everyone and get into the elevator. I reach the lobby and step outside.

  To see Hunter and Claire standing outside. Hunter is holding a bouquet of roses, Claire a single rose.

  I feel my eyes water straight away—damn it—and Hunter grabs hold of me, hugging me tightly with the roses still in his hand. I can smell them as he hugs me, but just barely over his masculine scent. When he finally lets go, he smiles.

  “Congratulations,” he says, holding the bouquet out to me.

  “Mommy,” Claire says, holding the single rose out to me. “You can have it since you won the promoting.”

  “Thank you, sweetie,” I say, taking the rose and treating it just as delicately and with as much importance as the full bouquet. “How did you find out about my promotion?”

  Hunter smirks. “Of course I found out. I knew even before you did. Now how do you want to celebrate?”

  I smile up at him with a glitter in my eye. “Maybe like the first night we met?”

  Claire tugs at my arm. “What does that mean?”

  Hunter hoists Claire up onto his shoulders. “Piggyback ride you home?”

  “Piggyback rides make me really sleepy,” Claire says. “I want to stay up to see how you and Mom are going to celebrate!”

  We flash each other nervous looks, but we both smile.

  “Get her good and sleepy, Hunter,” I say, taking his hand as Claire bounces happily on his shoulders. “We might want to take the long way home.”

  Stay: A Second Chance Military Badboy Romance - PREVIEW

  21

  Sophie

  Prologue - Sixteen Years Ago

  The bell rings, and everyone keeps talking. But no one is talking to me. I don’t have a lot of friends.

  I turn around and take a look at Mason Steel. Plenty of people are talking to him. He’s a senior, and every girl is wondering who he’s going to ask out to Homecoming.

  One of my few friends, Steph, says he’s not going to ask out anyone. He’s too cool to even go to Homecoming, according to Steph.

  Compared to all the other boys in class, Mason looks like a man. He has thick, muscular arms, a wide chest, and broad shoulders. His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass, and his blue eyes are always brooding despite their bright color.

  I sigh. One thing is sure enough, even if he does ask someone to Homecoming, it sure as hell won’t be me.

  My parents couldn’t afford to get me braces until the end of Sophomore year--after I got a part-time job to help the pay--and my teeth were a total mess. They are just starting to look okay now, but it’s almost the end of my Junior year already. The orthodontist suggested that wearing my headgear to school would have me out of the braces quicker. I did that one time--one single time--and the ridicule was so bad that I’m still to this day called: “Robot Girl.”

  And since I didn’t wear my headgear to school, I’ll still have my braces on for Homecoming. And braces aside, I’m kind of a geek. My breasts suddenly started getting really big last year, and it embarasses the hell out of me, so I started wearing big baggy sweatshirts.

  “Quiet!” Mr. Holloway shouts. “Class has started. We’re going to go over your tests.”

  Oh, the test! I perk right up and smile. I hear the rest of the class all groan.

  “What are you smiling at, robot girl?” Melanie hisses over to me. “What kind of nerd gets excited about a test?”

  I cross my arms and slouch.

  Mr. Holloway starts to hand the tests out. Each test he hands out looks like a gutpunch to the student. There are heads falling to desks, load groans, and a lot of swearing.

  “Relax,” Mr. Holloway says, “This was a very difficult test. There will be a curve.”

  That kills the groaning just a little bit. I watch Mr. Holloway hand Mason Steel his test. No, I watch Mason’s face. Mason’s never really been nice to me, then again, he’s also never been mean or nasty to me. I use that to convince myself that he secretly has a big crush on me. I’m pretty sure it’s not true--if he had a crush on me, he’d at least look at me from time to time--but it’s fun to pretend.

  Mason looks at his paper, and rather than groaning or whining, his shoulders sag just a little bit. He starts to skim his fingers across the paper, shaking his head.

  “Melanie,” Mr. Holloway says, putting a paper face down onto Melanie’s desk, “Slide this over to Sophie.”

  He turns away and moves to the next student.

  No. Please, no.

  Melanie grabs the paper and looks right at it. “A ninety two?! Robot girl ruined the curve!”

  I snatch it out of her hand. Shit! I missed a full question, and got marked off for another. I know I could have done better.

  Okay, so maybe my “Robot Girl,” nickname is also because of stuff like this, not just the headgear.

  “Everyone will get eight points added to their score,” Mr. Holloway drones.

  Everyone turns to me and glares. Mason is behind me, so I can’t see him, but I don’t dare to look and see if he’s glaring too. Judging from his reaction, he didn’t do so well on the test. He’s probably furious with me too, and if I see him giving me that look, it will shatter my fantasy that he has a crush on me.

  We go over the test for most of the class. When I dare to turn back and see how Mason is doing, I see him looking down at his test with a smirk.

  The bell rings, and I try to get out as fast as I can. I want to melt away into the crowds in the hallway. If I can put a few hundred feet between myself and the chemistry room, all the people who are mad at me will be spread out, and the mob anger won’t be able to flare up.

  But no, Mr. Holloway ran out before any of the students did. I hear a lot of the boys joking that Mr. Holloway probably has IBS, so it might be a while before he’s back.

  Melanie blocks the doorway. She chews a thick piece of gum while holding her hands against the doorway.

  “Let me through!” Dillon shouts, “I gotta go make out with my girlfriend!”

  Melanie points to me, “Tell it to her.”

  “Robot girl ain’t the one blocking the door!” Dillon shouts.

  “I’m not moving until she Homecomingises not to ruin the curve again,” Melanie says, scowling at me.

  Dillon, not the brightest guy, slowly turns toward me and gives me a dull, confused look. I watch as it slowly transforms into anger. “Yeah, Robot Girl, why can’t you just, like, get a lower score?”

  “I won’t ruin the curve again,” I say, barely whispering.

  “What’s that?” Melanie asks, smacking her gum. “Your voice circuits fried? Need your headgear on to speak?”

  “I said I won’t ruin the curve again! Just let everyone through.”

  “She’s lying,” Wil says, “She’s just saying what we want her to say to get out of this. She’ll definitely ruin the curve again. If you had scored just a few points lower, I’d have gotten a B!”

  “If you’d have just studied an hour longer,” a deep voice booms from the back of the room, “You’d have gotten a B.”

  I look back and see Mason Steel standing tall. HIs muscles aren’t really flexed, but they always look like they are bulging. To me at least.

  “Move out of the way, Melanie,” he says. “Don’t put your shitty grade onto her.”

  Her. He’s talking about me! It’s the first time he’s verbally acknowledged my existence. Awesome!

  I realize I’m smiling wide, like an idiot.

  “Look!” Melanie hisses. “She’s smiling! She is so full of shit!”

  Melanie looks over to Dillon and Will. She snaps her fingers. “Why is Robot Girl wearing a fucking sweater in September? It’s not even cold yet. What’s she hiding under there?”

  Will and Dillon give her confused looks.

  “Take it off!” Melanie shouts at me. “I want to see that you have skin and bones, prove to us you
’re not a robot!”

  I feel my face burning red. My smile is gone.

  I look over toward Mason, and I see him prowling toward the door, like a lion on the hunt.

  He leans in toward Melanie. I see his mouth moving, but I can’t hear anything he’s saying.

  Melanie shouts over his shoulder. “Will! Get it off her!”

  Will elbows Dillon, and the two of them creep toward my desk. I get up and move back, but soon I’m against the wall.

  “Just take it off,” Dillon mumbles to me.

  Will grabs me, and he starts pulling at my sweater. I scream.

  The next thing I know, it looks almost as if Will is lifted up into the air. As if God himself has decided to intervene, and just pluck Will up off the ground.

  But it’s not God, it’s Mason Steel. I see his chest and arms flexing, the veins popping--his muscles really are bulging now--as he holds Will over his head. Will squirms, and Mason throws Will down into the rows of desks.

  Will crashes against one desk, rolls over the chair, and hits the next desk behind him. The desk flips over onto its side, and Will falls down into the hallway in a big heap.

  Everyone is stunned into silence. Me especially.

  I see the gum drop out of Melanie’s mouth, and it feels like my own jaw has hit the floor.

  “Out!” Mason shouts.

  I see someone slide past Melanie, and the floodgates open. Everyone pours out, afraid that Mason will be on them next.

  Will pulls himself up off the ground and slinks out into the hallway, like a rat with its tail down.

  Before I know it, Mason and I are the only ones left in the classroom. The desks where Will hit are still knocked over, so I start to life one up. I’m afraid to look Mason in the eye, and this is the only thing I can think to do.

  “Relax,” he says, “I’ve got it.”

  I feel his big, protective hand touch my back, and I freeze. He moves in front of me and hefts the desk up effortlessly. He grabs the next one and slides it in line.

  “Sorry about all that,” he says.

  I can feel my face burning. I’m afraid to make eye contact with him. He’s never even looked at me, and now he’s talking to me. Alone.

  “It’s…” I mumble, looking up at him. Daring to meet his gorgeous eyes. “Why are you saying sorry?”

  “I probably could have handled that better,” he says, patting the desk.

  “You were perfect,” I say.

  He laughs. “I got a B.”

  “Be where?”

  “My grade,” he says, “On the test. It was a C, but the eight points got me a B, so thanks.”

  “Oh,” I say. “You could have had an A, if I hadn’t--”

  “Don’t listen to them,” he says. “They’re all just looking for anyone to blame other than themselves. You gotta earn your own way.”

  I notice I’m licking my lips. My throat is dry.

  Mason points down. “Your sweater.”

  I look down, and I see that it’s torn. A long thread is hanging out. It looks like shit. Shittier than usual. I grip the torn fabric in my hand and just stare dumbly at it. I don’t know what to say or do.

  “Can I give you some advice?” Mason says.

  I look up at him, still clutching my sweater like an idiot. “Uh, okay.”

  “Don’t hide yourself. Assholes like Will and Melanie are looking for weakness, for people who aren’t confident.”

  I bite my lip, look briefly at him, and then back down. It’s easy for someone like Mason Steel to tell me to ‘just be confident,’ it’s another thing to actually do it. How can I be confident when I feel so afraid?

  “How can I...what should I do?” I ask.

  “You wanna help me with chemistry?” He says, “I don’t want to rely on a curve to get a good grade.”

  “Help you?”

  “I mean,” he says, “I can help you with your problem, if you can teach me to not be so shit at chemistry. Sound fair?”

  I’d have helped him for free. No, I’d have paid him to help him study.

  “Uhh,” I stammer. Why am I being indecisive? Just say ‘yes!’”

  “No,” he says, “Sorry, I shouldn’t take advantage of--”

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes, deal.”

  “Okay,” he says, “Cool, meet me at my car after school.”

  22

  Mason

  Prologue - Sixteen Years Ago

  I get out of my last class early. It’s one of those “history” classes where the football coach teaches it. Coach usually only manages to pretend he knows about history for 45 minutes, and then he lets us leave early. No one complains.

  My car is an ‘89 Camaro. My pride and joy. I’ve worked almost every day after school since I was fifteen to pay for it. It’s gleaming black, and even though its boxy frame is pretty outdated, I still think it looks cool as shit.

  Plenty of girls seem to think it looks cool too, though a few have complained it doesn’t actually have a backseat. It can be a bit difficult to fuck a girl with the shifter box right in between both seats, but I like a challenge.

  “Mason,” a voice calls out.

  I look up, it’s my brother Eric.

  He’s younger than me, but only by about 10 months--Irish twins.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Can I get a ride?”

  “Uh,” I say, “I would, but I’m meeting Sophie.”

  I look over at my car, as if to emphasize there are only two seats.

  “Sophie?” He asks. “Sophie who?”

  “Sinclaire.”

  He looks confused, but then his eyes widen. “Robot girl? You’re fucking robot--”

  I shove him into the car. “Watch it!’

  He laughs. “Dude, I didn’t know you were into chicks like that, I mean she’s got some big tits, but--”

  I pull him off the car and shove him again, harder this time. “Alright!” He says, smiling, putting his hands up. “Sorry, bro, I was just giving you a hard time. Sophie’s nice, you two would be good together.”

  “She’s helping me with chemistry,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “Call it whatever you want,” Eric says, “It’s cool.”

  I roll my eyes and let go of him. He adjusts his collar and starts to leave.

  “Hey,” I say, stopping him. “I’ll give you a ride tomorrow. You gonna be home tonight?”

  Eric shrugs. “I dunno, maybe. I’ll get a ride from Grossman.”

  “Danny Grossman?” I ask, “Come on, man--”

  “Drop it, Mason, not like you don’t drink sometimes too.”

  “Yeah, well, if he tries to get you to smoke crack or something--”

  “I’m not a dipshit, Mason. See ya, have fun with Sophie.”

  He waves and walks off.

  The bell rings in the distance, and big crowds of people start to flood into the parking lot. I lean against my car with my arms crossed, in case Sophie doesn’t know which car is mine.

  I finally see her, only after she’s right on top of me. She’s taken the sweater off, so I didn’t even recognize her.

  I notice my eyes wandering down her chest, she really does have big--

  “Hey,” she says.

  I smile. “Hey.”

  We close the chemistry books. We’re at a coffee shop.

  “You think you got it?” Sophie asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, “It kind of clicked. You’re better at teaching this stuff than Mr. Holloway is.”

  She smiles really wide. She’s been smiling a lot, and I can’t help but notice that she looks pretty damn good when she smiles.

  “You can go if you want to,” she says, “I mean, you probably have other stuff to do now.”

  I cross my arms. “Remember the deal?”

  “You don’t have to help me with...that,” she says, “It’s my own fault.”

  “You’re bad at it,” I say, “You gotta treat yourself with more respect. Don’t assume you’re always
inconveniencing everyone.”

  “I’m not,” she snaps.

  “How far do you live from here?” I ask.

  “Uh,” she mumbles, “Three miles or so?”

  “So you told me to just leave you here, what was your plan to get home?”

  She blushes. Her cheeks both redden. “I dunno.”

  “Walk?”

  “I was going to call my Dad.”

  “But I’d be happy to drive you back,” I say, “So why not just ask me? Because you have no confidence.”

  “I took off the sweater,” she says. “That’s good, at least, right?”

  I look down at her tits. Not for the first time tonight. “Yeah...that’s good.”

  I force myself to look back up. She smiles. She looks pretty good all over, I realize.

  “Are you going to Homecoming?” I ask her.

  Her face drains of color. She shakes her head.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “I mean,” she says, “I wouldn’t be against going, it’s just--it’s kind of stupid, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “I wasn’t going to go.”

  “It’s stupid,” Sophie says. “Pay a lot of money to dress up and play pretend for one night? And it’s embarrassing, I wouldn’t want everyone thinking I was trying to be something I’m not…”

  I lean forward, my elbows digging into the table. I lock eyes with her. “That sounds like...a lack of confidence?”

  She puts both hands up and waves them, dismissing me. “No, no, that’s not what I meant--”

  “You’re going to the Homecoming,” I say, grinning. It’s exactly what would help her, and I wouldn’t mind seeing her in a nice, tight dress. “And I’m taking you with me.”

  23

  Sophie

  Prologue - Sixteen Years Ago

  The dress is the complete opposite of my big sweaters. Rather than hang loosely around me like a big sack of potatoes, it squeezes me. It presses my breasts together, but it only covers the bottom half of them. I feel naked.